


Rainbow Rivers

by coneycrate



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Homicidal Musings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-31
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-30 10:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coneycrate/pseuds/coneycrate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee's brain is not nearly as chill as a brother might think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainbow Rivers

**Author's Note:**

> A quick one-shot.

He misses the old, familiar stupor. Lately, the clamouring voices have been getting louder and louder. It isn't even just one source - the Old Watchers, his Ancestor whispering out to his beloved protégé, the vast great sound that drilled into his mind and that relatively new voice; the one now gently coaxing him into oblivion. He is thankful - briefly - that, for the most part they're at odds. They all want different things. Chaotic destruction, pleas for help, orders and demands, and carefully laid out plans with every detail to be followed to the letter no matter how small or insignificant seeming.

But now? Now it seems as if they're all singing in one resounding chorus. The more singers that join the unholy choir, the harder it is not to dance to the melody. Nothing to numb then, nobody to quiet them. Even Karkat is too afraid to go near him any more.

Not that he blames him. He isn't sure if this is something he loves or loathes about his forced sobriety, but either way there it is - the cleared head and lucidity, even for the briefest of moments, while the dread chorus breaks in its hymn. He understands the fear and the hatred they have in their eyes when they look at him. They've stopped pretending now. They've stopped joking. When he stumbles out of the rooms he locks himself away in, covered in a fresh coat of bloody paint, thick, rotting brown around his lips, he sees them reel back in disgust. He hopes that's just the human influence, softening them to Alternian ways.

He guesses it's not.

He looks around the room at the smeared patterns on the wall. What used to be Vriska is not strung about the room like a decoration. He was proud of that. He couldn't give her what she deserved in life, but in death he could paint the most beautiful retribution. He made sure to sit Tavros where he could see. Where those empty eyes could gaze on eternally at the justice he had delivered. He likes to think he'd be happy, but there's a part of him who knows better. He always was his better half.

Never met anyone as gentle and kind as that little troll, before or since. The voices knew that. He was one of the reasons he had sunken so deeply into blissful ignorance; to quieten the shouts and screams and calls for his blood. He was weak after all. And the weak needed to be culled to make the herd stronger. That was meant to be his job; a job he never asked for or wanted. So he pacified himself and quelled the rage - the confusion - and spent his childhood happy. He forgot about the voices when he was awake and barely understood them when he slept. All was well.

But the voices are back now. They scream and sing for what was denied them. The years of drought have made them thirsty, hungry, greedy and cruel. But...he isn't ready to lose it all completely. He focuses on the thought of the dark shape clawing out to them in the depths of the blackness around their little prison. Jack. Jack Noir. The reason they were denied their paradise. The reason they all lie here bloody and broken. The reason his head rings with murky chants, compelling him into the void.

And into the void he goes. Lucidity gone. Reason left behind with a deep, sickening kiss for the one he's glad died first, before he could see it all turn to ash and rainbow rivers.

He will pay. 

His hand grips the slippery handle of the club.

He will make him.


End file.
